I hung up the deer carcass in the shed and grabbed the rag to clean off my hands. I'd left Sansa alone for a couple of hours, but she'd been on my mind the entire time. I was surprised I'd even been able to catch the deer because I'd been so focused on her.

I turned and looked at the cabin. There was no movement inside, but then again that didn't mean anything. Maybe she was sleeping?

Maybe she’d found a quiet corner in the cabin and read one of the books I had.

Or maybe she'd left.

My heart was beating faster, and beads of sweat dotted my brow. I found myself at the front door only seconds later, prepping the deer to be smoked long forgotten. Instinct told me to go check on her, to make sure she was still here.

When I opened the door the first thing I smelled was cooking food. I looked toward the kitchen area and saw her standing by the wood-burning stove. Whatever was in the pan in front of her sizzled and crackled.

For a moment I was speechless, couldn't even move. She had yet to realize that I stood in the doorway, and the sound of her lightly humming was a balm to my soul.

She looked good in my house, like she was at ease, at home. I wanted that desperately. I wanted to walk up to her, pull her into my arms and kiss her until she was breathless. I wanted her to feel that in every single part of her body. I wanted her to know that she was mine, that I would worship the very ground she walked on.

And I did take that first step, instinct controlling me, primal need dictating what I did. But the sound of her gasping, of being in pain, and the sight of the oil splattering up from the pan, had me going to her for far different reasons.

I pulled her close to me and she gasped again, startled I was there. I looked down at her hand and saw the redness starting to form. I immediately grabbed the jug of water that was on the table and brought her over to the basin. I poured the water over her palm, staring at her face the whole time to make sure she wasn't in any pain.

Just knowing she was hurt, even in this small instance, made me feel desperate. It was this weakness I felt inside of me, one I'd never experienced before.

When the water ran out she looked down at her hand. I wished I had ice to give to her, but living off the grid didn't allow for luxuries.

“Thank you.” Her voice was soft, innocent. “I think I'll be okay.” She glanced over at the frying pan. “I should've been paying attention.”

It was my turn to look at the frying pan and at all the dishes filled with fruits and vegetables. It was then I realized she'd been cooking dinner ... for me.

“You were cooking for—”

“You,” she said softly and her cheeks turned pink. Of course we were the only two here, but I’d never even thought about her doing such an act for me. I stared at her face again, the redness clear. I’d embarrassed her by my question. “I figured you'd be hungry and want something to eat after you came back from hunting.” She glanced away, the long fall of her hair shielding her face. “I thought it was least I could do since you helped me.”

Emotions slammed into me instantly. They consumed every part of me. The fact that she'd taken the time to cook for me, that she wanted to give me something that she made herself, had every primal instinct in me rising up like this violent animal. I wanted to clear off the counter, grab her around the hips and set her on it, parting her thighs and devouring her.

Slow, easy. I need to remember this. I need to be gentle.

But those things were not in my nature, never had been.

And it was that primal side, that intense desire that had me knowing it was better to let Sansa come to me than go to her. Truth was I probably frightened her, and her leaving was not something I would let happen.

* * *

Knowing that Otto had enjoyed my cooking, that he complimented it every time I made him food, made this happiness and warmth spread through me. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy his company, albeit he was the strong silent type.

It had been a week since I'd come to his cabin, and things were flowing smoothly. We were in this routine. Although he didn't make me do anything, I cleaned up the cabin, cooked for him, and helped out in the garden.

In fact, Otto tried on several occasions to stop me from doing any kind of work. But I liked keeping busy. It helped stop my mind from wandering to other things, things that would just bring me down. I felt myself growing closer to him. A week’s time in our world seemed more like forever.

A storm had been raging outside for the last hour, hard pellets of rain beating against the cabin window like tiny bullets wanting to get in. Otto had started a fire before the storm started, and the warmth and ambience of it seemed to brighten the room in more than just a literal sense.

He was busy cleaning and sharpening his ax, and in between me reading an old book I’d found—one that wasn't particularly interesting—I was keeping busy. But his presence was distracting. I lifted my gaze and stared at him.

His forearms flexed as he moved the cloth along the blade of the ax, his skin tan, his body so strong. Over the last week I found the attraction I had for Otto growing tenfold. He made me feel warm in places I never knew were possible, made me think of things that seemed grossly inappropriate, but made me feel womanly.

I felt beads of perspiration start to cover my body, and it had nothing to do with sitting by the fire. Just then it crackled and popped, the flames licking over the logs and startling me. I glanced over at the hearth, staring at it for long seconds, my mind a whirlwind.

When I finally looked back at Otto I saw he watched me, his head cast down slightly, his eyes heavy-lidded. I felt like I was naked in front of him, bared so he saw every single inch of my body. It excited me.

His pupils were big, dilated to the point they ate up the color of his irises. I slowly lowered my gaze to his hands, one holding the massive ax, the other holding the rag he was cleaning the weapon with. I imaged how it would feel to have his hands on me, the strength coming from them enough to make me feel feminine.

I started breathing harder, my chest rising and falling in time with the beat of my heart. What I wanted to do was just go over to him, cup his face in my hands—the scruff of his beard under my palms scratching, arousing—and kiss him.

“What are you thinking about right now?” he asked, his voice so deep, so masculine that it made the hair on my arms stand on end.

In that moment I wanted to be honest, to tell him I needed his hands on me, his lips on mine. But I was afraid, nervous of even uttering those words. I'd never been around a man aside from my father, but the way Otto made me feel had this fire burning inside of me.

There was no chance of it dimming.

He set the ax down and braced his forearms on his thighs, his gaze still trained on me. “Tell me, Sansa. Tell me what you're thinking, tell me what you want and it's yours.”

He seemed so close, yet so far away. The air was thick, heated, and the beads of perspiration on my body seemed to intensify, multiply. Could I be honest with him? Could I actually tell him how I felt even though I had only been here for a week? It seemed so forward, almost invading on what we had.

I also knew these emotions were crowding me, speaking louder than I was able to ignore. And they grew over the days, hours, minutes. They were all I thought about, all I felt. Being honest was being true to myself, and I knew I didn't want to keep them inside any longer.

“You.” I stared right into his eyes. “I want you.” And the words just tumbled out of my mouth on their own, like this living entity that needed to be released.

The only thing I heard from him was this low rumble, this animalistic sound. And then he was standing, coming for me. I knew he'd give me exactly what I wanted.

Him.